The Mortician's Apprentice
by steampunkgirl
Summary: A girl watched as a shadowy figure giggled in manic delight, his talloned hands bringing a wickedly sharp scythe above his head. The girl's sister lay asleep at his feet, blissfully unaware of her fate. A scythe fell. A girl screamed. A life was ened.
1. Chapter 1

Hey guys, I'm doing two stories at a time right now, so forgive me if I lag behind on updates.

A girl shot down the crowded street, taking no heed of the people surrounding her. Her pursuers strained behind to keep her within sight even though they knew that they had already lost. She wasn't particularly fast, her asailents just weren't accustomed to rushing about the streets of London. After playing with them a while longer,the slight girl decided that she should conserve her energy and smartly stepped into an indention in the nearest alleyway. The two men sailed straight past her. Percilla sighed. Adults were so _stupid_.

She strolled nonchalantly down the dank alley, her careless feet occasionally faltering on the puddles of filth that drenched London's streets. Her thoughts were centered solely on her sister now, a slow smile creeping up her face. Sickly little Emily would be able to eat again. Her frail face would be so bright when she saw the meager meal! She suddenly stopped to study her reflection in a semi-clear ditch of water.

A short shock of spiky cobolt hair framed a thin, pale, seventeen year old face, and stopped in the middle of a long spindily neck. The eyes that gazed back at her were glowing a feverish and burning yellow. Percilla Nightingale kicked at the puddle in annoyance with narrowed eyes, sending rivulets of dingy dray water flying every which way.

Her eyes were what unsettled people the most, she knew, what evoked the words of 'witch' and 'demon'. It's because of their unfortunate pigmentation that her family cast her out.

She had begun walking shortly after disturbing the puddle, eager to see her sister's cheerful face, which, in turn, caused an expression of almost equal mirth to brighten her face. _Just a few more turns!_ Her leisurely walk became a giddy run as she rounded the second to last corner. _Just around the last bend and-_

She stopped cold, the stale bread dropping from her grasp, it's warmth leaving her like what remained of the color in her face. A towering black figure giggled in feverish delight as he swung the wickedly gleaming scythe in his taloned hands and brought it up in an arc above his lean body. At his booted feet, a little girl lay sleeping. Emily. Percilla couldn't move, not even enough for her mouth to produce a feeble shriek. The figure gave a final mirthful shriek, stretching his body to full height. And then, the scythe descended upon her sleeping form, imbedding itself with a sickenig wet sound in her side and showering the coarse brick walls in a spray of innocent blood. The man tossed his matted gray head back and cackled even louder, and his voice rang in the older girl's ear like a like a crow's delighted taunt. Emily still looked as if she were just sleeping, her thumb in mouth and her face peaceful, her body curled in a warm ball. The killer grabbed the scythe and unsheathed it from the little girl's body just as glowing strands of what appeared to be a tangle of ribbon sprang forth from her sister's body, casting an etheral glow over the contents of the alleyway. When Percilla's eyes bore deeper into the ribbons, she was astounded to see moving images of some sort, playing back scenes from Emily's daily life. The orphanage. Percilla finding Emily huddled in a crate. Splitting small meals together . Emily's laughing face. Percilla's vision went red and hazy. Suddenly, Percilla found her voice, and She screamed a wordless animal scream, the sort of sound that no human vocal chords should ever be able to make, leaving her with a throat that felt like cleaved meat.

The man seemed to notice her for the first time , because he turned his head from the ribbons. Percilla could not tell if he was actually looking at her, because his eyes were conceiled by a curtain of scruffy gray hair, as was the other half of a scar on the lower left half of his face, the corner of which was warped by a violently contrasting jovial smile. "Well hello my dear~" Then friendly set of his grin suddenly turned more devious cheshire smirk as his eyes seemed to move up her body, a dark shadow crossing what was showing of his face "Those are some interesting eyes you have, Percilla."

Caught beetween fight and flight, Percilla chose flight. She fled from the scene at the same speed that had taken her there, but for an entirely different reason. She wasn't sure, but as she sped, she thought she heard the dry rustling of feathered wings behind her, dissapearing and coming back at random times. The shadows came alive with voices and barely hidden faces, bidding Percilla to run even faster. She ran for ten straight minutes, not sure where her feet were taking the while she could hear the mocking cackle, one that didn't seem too far behind. She could care less so long as she couldn't hear that tormenting cackle that bounced off the walls at every direction. Evening soon turned to the dark embrace of night, and Percilla finally stopped. She collapsed in a panting, sobbing heap on the filthy wet ground, curling into a tiny ball and hugging her knees tightly to her stomach. She didn't know where she was. She didn't care where she was. Emily was gone. Forever .

She lay like that for hours, her body heaving with long, shuddering sobs. She could see nothing but the blade of a scythe portruding from the child she loved so dearly, the one she would do anything to protect. She had failed her sister, the only person she hed ever cared for. As exceptance washed in, she found that she could no longer cry. A wave of peace enveloped her body and she suddenly felt a temporary sense of tranquility. She knew what she had to do. Her grip on her knees loosened and her eyelids reluctantly slid down and her harsh breathing slowed. Then, when she was just on the cusp of deceptably blissful oblivion, those words damnable words echoed in her mind. "_Those are some interesting eyes you have..."_

So what'd you guys think? Should I continue this story? Sorry it was so short, I'm just seeing if this would be worth my time to continue. Anyway, be sure to RnR! :D


	2. Chapter 2

Hi, back again. I'm really having fun with this story! Taking that into consideration, I have decided to continue it. So yeah, enjoy~

_Emily sat huddled in her crate. She didn't speak and she didn't eat. The makeshift orphanage that she survived in was located in a large collection of stacked crates, hardly even worthy of the title 'makeshift'. There were few people who looked after the children, and the ones who did were pointlessly cruel, using the children to steal and scam for them and violently punishing the ones who didn't succeed. It was the sort of place in which only the strong survived, which was why no one ever tried to rouse the frail girl in the crate. She supposed it was a lucky thing, because it wasn't often they took pity on the weak. The tiny girl had no memory of her previous life, only her name was left clear. For the weeks and weeks that were left lucid to her, she lived like that, slowly wasting away in her little box. And then, one day, she saw her. A blue haired girl creeping past the plywood shacks with a bag of what appeared to be bread. Most of London's unfortunants knew better than to approach the area, but there she was, tentatively sneaking past her crate. Which was why Emily knew that she had to take a chance. Raising her voice as much as her clenching throat would allow, Emily cried out._

The moment Percilla woke up, she knew something was off. Her vision still blurred from sleep, she pulled herself painfully into a sitting position and rubbed her eyes, faintly smelling embalming fluid and...cookies?. And then it hit her. Her body collapsed to the ground and she groaned painfully as memories of the previous night came flooding back to her in horrifying detail. The smell of blood. The Gleam of a scythe. Her adopted sister's final breath. "Good morning dear visitor! Tea?" Percilla's eyes had gone back into focus, what she saw confused her completely.

She was, aparently, lying in the middle of an abandoned looking sidewalk, in front of a run down building. Leaning against the cobweb coated walls were a few large, faded coffins, and the sign above the rotted wooden door proclaimed **Undertaker**, with a skull hanging against the **r.** "You managed to disturb quite a few of my guests with the noise you caused running towards my humble establishment~" Percilla turned her strained attention to the voice beside her and was instantly shocked. The man was garbed completely in black, wearing a slightly oriental looking robe, with billowy sleeves that covered his black nailed hands, a gray sash running over his left shoulder and knotted at his right hip. His neck was scared, as was the portion of his face that wasn't curtained by silvery shards of gray hair. Atop his head was an overly tall top hat, a ragged piece of black material pinned to it's lid. He sat crossed legged on an overturned coffin in front of her, a tray of dog biscuits and two beakers of dark brown liquid sitting in his lap. Something about the strange man seemed chillingly familiar, but whenever Percilla tried to recall why, her memories became fuzzy and blurred.

"When I found you collapsed in the fetal position on my doorstep, I decided to wait for you to wake up. I even made tea~" He held out the tray expectantly. Oh, what the hell. This was all probably just a dream, and any minute Percilla would wake up to and find Emily sleeping next to her, safe and sound. Percilla sat up again, less painfully this time, and pulled a beaker of tea gratefully from the dusty tray and tried for a cookie as well, but the man snatched the tray of bone shaped cookies and brought them back behind him teasingly. "You cannot have one. They are mine." Percilla shrugged and took a sip of her tea. It was actually quite good, and the warmth of the beaker comforted her. "If you don't mind my asking" she began "Am I dreaming?" The mortician cackled a bone chilling cackle and popped a biscuit in his mouth."Of course not! You're perfectly awake~ Unlike that little girl in the alley. Poor thing, someone slashed her clean open!" Percilla's grip on her tea tightened. "What did you say?" The robed man smiled in mock innocence, making it obvious that he knew more than he was letting on. "Would you like to come in? My guests could use some more company~" Percilla sighed and rose to her feat. It was obvious that she would need the clown's information if she was going delve farther into Emily's murder, no matter how much he already annoyed her. So she wordlessly followed him through the half rotted door.

The interior of the morgue mirrored much of the exterior. Everything was wearing a coat of cobwebs, from the shabby black walls to the giant stack of papers that might have been a desk at one point or another. Coffins dominated the floor and leaned against walls, these more intricate than the one she saw outside. The dusty shelves held various jars and boxes, and the whole area smelled more severely of embalming fluid.

The mortician perched himself perilously on the leaning tower of papers and crossed his legs, the jar of biscuits in the crook of his arm. Percilla looked around nervously, wondering how many of the coffins were occupied. She walked up to the coffin closest to the mortician and sat rigidly on it's edge. The undertaker smiled at her discomfort. " Okay, now, what about that little girl?" His annoyingly smug smirk grew a little. "I haven't the slightest idea what you're talking about~ You can call me Undertaker, by the way. I don't really have a name~" Percilla's eye twitched. This was going nowhere fast. "Alright then,_ Undertaker_, you seemed to know exactly what I'm talking about outside, so why not in here?" He threaded his fingers into one another and rested his chin on his hands, his smile ever growing. "You're probably just delusional from whatever happened last night~ Now that I think about it, I don't believe you have introduced yourself yet." Percilla sighed. Another day, then. "Percilla. Percilla Nightingale" she said tiredly. Undertaker's expression of surprise was the cheesiest thing Percilla had ever seen. "Nightingale! As in, the _earl_ Nightingale? Dear me, Why is someone of your social ranking running about the streets?" He paused." Could it be that your family has cast you out?" Percilla's face burned as hot as her temper. She looked away, suddenly exhausted. She thought about going back to the alley, but she most likely wouldn't be able to face it again.

"Listen, is there anywhere around here I can sleep? I'm exhausted. He stood up. "Of course! I keep a guest room in the back. Though if you'd like, you can most certainly sleep in a coffin~" She cringed at the last option. "Guest room please." He seemed slightly downed by Percilla's decision, but led her through the dark hallway nonetheless. Across from the door to her room was another, identacle door. When he saw her looking at it, he waved his finger at her. "You are not to enter that room without my permission. It's very dangerous, you know~" This made Percilla worry and want to enter the room at the same time. "Okay. I'll probably just be here for one night, so you don't have to worry." He waved his hand and started off down the hall, calling over his shoulder, "None sense! Stay as long as you'd like~" The girl with the cobolt hair groaned. She was planning on staying until she got an answer out of him already, but hearing him permit her descision made her want to run back to the streets._ Remember_ she thought, _this is about Emily._ She opened the nob with trace amounts of dread in her stomach, and was pleasantly surprised.

The room was fairly small, but it had a bed, a wardrobe, and even a mirrored washbasin. All of the furniture was spotlessly white, and the walls were a pleasant powdery blue. It was the nicest roomshe had stayed in since leaving her mansion, and she wondered why a mortician even needed a guest room._ Don't look a gift horse in the mouth, _she remembered. She skipped undressing and curled up between the flowery pink quilt and the blue sheets, thinking of how much Emily would have loved the room. For the first night of her life, she slept soundly.

How'd you guys like the chapter? Be sure to RnR~


	3. Chapter 3

Hello dear readers, Back with a new chapter~ I would like to thank all of my lovely readers for being so supportive of me (misspellings and all). You are all amazing and...writing this is kind of nauseating. Well, I tried. Okay, look, thanks for your support and just enjoy the chapter.

Muffins. Embalming fluid. Tea. Those were the first scents to invade Percilla's nostrals on that frigid Thursday morning, along with lingering notes of dust and wood. She sat up hesatently, wondering how difficult it would be to go back to sleep. _No, _she decided_.That will solve nothing._

With grim determination, she tossed her blanket away and stumbled onto the freezing wooden floor. Percilla's clothes were hopelessly rumpled and uncomfortable, and she wondered how difficult obtaining a new skirt would be. She shrugged of her discomfort defiantly. _Just because you slept on a real bed doesn't mean you have any right to complain,_ she remembered,_ you are still from the street._ The alluring scent of muffins pulled Percilla towards a room partially conceiled by a coffin, her gaze catching briefly on the door parallel from her's, and she pushed it away giultily. Why would she think about disobeying the man that had showed her so much kindness? _And,_ she added, _knew valuable information._

Percilla pulled the coffin aside to reviel a room that, under all of the filthy dishes, may have once been a kitchen, with a dingy little stove and a large black wash basin. Undertaker bended in front of the stove, his pink mitted hands removing a pan of golden muffins, the smell of which caused her mouth to water . He placed the pan on an arguably clean spot on the counter and saw Percilla standing in the doorway and waved. "Good morning! I made breakfast~" Percilla nodded numbly and stammered "Th- thank you. you didn't have to do that." The mortician waved his hand dissmissively. "Of course I did! It's been a long time since someone with a pulse has stayed with me." He kicked a pile of papers over to unviel a black table and two Queen Ann chairs and reached into his robe, dropping several strange items on the ground until he found a set of clean plates.

Percilla pulled a muffin from the pan, grabbing a beaker of Earl Gray, and stumbled over to the table, dropping the muffin and the beaker onto the plate and seated herself in the chair. Undertaker, who had completely disregarded the plush chair and was perched across from her on the tabletop, was already halfway through his muffin and was downing his tea. Percilla cautiously nibbled at her cinnamon muffin and found that it was the best things that she had eaten in years. She briefly reflected on how strange her life had become, eating muffins made by a mortician, who's shop she had absent mindedly escaped to, away from her sister's killer.

"So" He began, his voice muffled by a mouthful of muffin "I'm going to need you to run some errands for me. You know, because your a freeloader and all~" Percilla nearly choked on her muffin. "Erm... I don't have any problems with running errands for you or anything, but... didn't you say I wasn't imposing?" He giggled. "I just said you could stay as long as you'd like. Now, here's a list of things I need~" He handed her a piece of paper covered in illegible scrawlings. "But I don't have any-" He reached into his hat and retrieved a bag of coins, looking at her with an expectant smirk and a tilted head. Percilla glared at him. How had her life come to this? _Do it for Emily,_ she thought. Percilla sighed in defeat, rubbing at her temples to soothe her growing annoyance. "Alright, when should I leave?" She inquired tiredly. "Now of course~" She protested "But I haven't finished my muff-" She cut herself off in astonishment, because she was already outside.

_How the hell did he do that?_ Percilla sighed again. She was just going to have to deal with it. She considered running away. She had money and a full belly (more or less), and no one was watching her. But still, there was something holding her there, something deeper than just the desire for closure. "Dammit!" She cursed in frustration, stomping off to the market.

She knew her way fairly well, having navigated her way there an unfathomable amount of times. This particular gathering of booths was fairly nice, the scent of spices and roasted nuts forming a nostalgicaly warm blanket around Percilla's nose. Vendors boasted their wares with booming voices and children darted through the skirts and trousers of their parents, giggling in carefree delight. Booths and mats were filled with everything from dresses to ticking clockwork devices, the purpose of such things almost uninteligable. For someone unconditioned to the sights and sounds of London's markets, the scene would be quite overwhelming.

Percilla stalked through the isles of trinkets and spices, squinting at the lines on the shopping list. "Anise" she murmured, having sucessfully deciphered the first scrawling. She looked around the isle and spotted a booth bolstering herbs and spices. How convienant. Percilla made her way towards it and quickly found a bag labeled **Anice**. She was about to wonder why a mortician would ever need anise, but her thoughts were interupted by a chilling presence.

"Excuse me, may I reach past you?" Percilla's blood froze in her veins when she turned to see two scarlet eyes meeting her's. The man they belonged to was terribly frightening, tall and clad in a sharp black suit. His face was slender contained the kind of beauty that was completely eclipsed by it's unnatrally perfect structure, making it more erie than attractive. His hair was black as ink, and he had to stoop to meet the young girl's frightened yellow eyes. She struggled to respond, much less move out of his way. Finally she stammered "Y- yes, of course." Percilla scrambled to the opposite side of the persian rug. His perfect lips curved into a cocky smirk and he started grabbing bags of various spices, occasionaly stopping to observe the quality of the contents in the bags. He then walked to the bearded vendor and paid for his purchases swiftly. As he walked out of the small oasis of herbs and spices, he cast a final smirk at her over his shoulder, apparently expecting Percilla to melt. Instead she glared at him and turned haughtily back to her anise, having gotten over the initial shock of his intimidating presence. She fished some money out of the bag, thanking the man and walking into the street.

Percilla went about the rest of the errands, amazed at the feeling of actually _buying_ wares, rather than stealing them. It was strange, not being chased by angry shopkeepers and cashiers, having the liberty of legally receiving things. _If only Emily could be here..._ She looked at the list to distract herself from an oncoming wave of depression and discovered that there was only one more thing on the list. **Use the leftover money to buy whatever you'd like~****.** Percilla smiled with anticipation. This was going to be fun.

**X~X~X~X~X~**

When Percilla returned to the funeral parlour, her arms covered with bags and dresses, Undertaker's hands were buried deep in an obscenely gashed stomach, pulling out it's contents and dropping them into jars, giggling with cheery mirth. Percilla, having grown up amongst murder and pestilence, had witnessed scenes such as that many a time, but she still blanched none the less. She didn't let it show though, she merely closed the door and heaved her supplies in with her. At the sound of the closing door, Undertaker reluctantly pulled his attention from his grisly work and said "Welcome back~ How was your trip?" Percilla shrugged, dropping the bags on a coffin. "Not too bad." She remembered the ruby eyed man and shuddered_._ Undertaker nodded in satisfaction and turned back to his deceased patient.

"Have you seen my new guest? She was quite the mess when she arrived, but I cleaned her up nicely~" Percilla walked carefully around the ecstatic mortician and turned to face the body on the slab. The unclothed body had once belonged to a young woman, but it had been desacrated beyond recognition, with large, smooth cuts in her abdomen and throat, slit with careful prescion. Her blond, curled hair was stained dark with her own blood. Undertaker had removed many of her innards, which were now incased in foggy jars of varying sizes. Percilla couldn't help but to stare with morbid facsination as Undertaker continued his work, sewing up cuts and removing intrails for examination. As he did so, he explained to Percilla what he was doing and why he was doing it, obviously enjoying sharing his knowledge with someone who was interested. After a short period of silence, Percilla asked "How do you think she died?"

Undertaker paused and considered this question. "Hmm... it's very obvious that it was murder... and the cuts are too precise to have been made by a novice... strangely enough, the uterus has been cut out~" He put the scalpel down and Percilla looked at him in surprise. "The uterus? What would someone want with a uterus?" The gray haired mortician turned from the slab and seated himself on the nearest coffin. He retrieved a tin of biscuits from his robe and stuck one in his mouth. "I have no idea what so ever~ However, this is not a solitary occurence, and I suspect that it will keep happening until something is done to stop it."

So there were more! Percilla sat down on an oblong box across from him and said slowly, "That little girl in the alley... she didn't happen to have her uterus removed as well?" Undertaker shook his head with a smile. "Nope! By the way, you seem quite interested in that girl. You wouldn't happen to know her, would you?" His smile grew and Percilla looked at her feet again. "No, of course not. I was just wondering." Something in her memory stirred then. "Undertaker..."

She would have said more, but the opening of the front door cut her off. Four people shuffled hesatently through the doorway, the youngest of which was a little boy dressed in blue finery and was leading the pack of adults. As her eyes slid down the row, her blood froze again. There was the red eyed man, standing dutifully behind the little boy in the front of the row. He looked at Percilla and smiled a sly, snakelike smile, to which she responded by quickly looking further behind the line of people. There was a beautiful woman dressed all in red, followed by a serene looking chinese man dressed in a green robe and clean white pants.

Percilla looked at the coffin across from her to discover that Undertaker had disappeared. She looked all around the room, but to no avail. The little boy also noticed the mortician's absence, because he called with bratty annoyance "Undertaker!" It drew a responce from a large coffin leaning against the opposite wall. The door slid of slowly to reveil the mortician in question, his trademark smile curling his lips. "Ehehe, welcome earl."

Pew, long chapter! Oh, before I forget, you guys should read the article on fan fiction that time magazine did, it was pretty cool, mostly centered on the Potter fandom. Anyway, please review~


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